


Bay Through Hell

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bruce Wayne Tries, Colorful Language, Creative Use of Sheepherding Whistles, Gen, Happy Ending, MerMay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: Dick laughs, but it’s watery. “We named him, like idiots. I know, I know, don’t name them, you get attached, but we couldn’t keep calling him Baby or M52DC16.”“What’s his name, Dick?” Bruce coaxes as he starts planning out what he’s going to need for the fountain.“Timothy,” Dick says fondly. “His name’s Timothy.”
Comments: 55
Kudos: 511





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> V really, really didn't feel the need to post her contribution to MerMay, but Gord insisted. Not meant to be taken seriously or read as scientifically accurate in any way.
> 
> Brief mentions of nonconsensual drug use, mental illness, and suicide.

**Bay Through Hell**

_Sharks, green with envy they wonder what you see in me_

_Funny thoughts sometimes can't help but wonder that as well_

_Now life is a holiday, making up for the years I paid_

_The weight to this heavenly bay, it went through hell_

_Beauty in the water, angel on the beach_

_Ocean's daughter, I thought love was out of reach_

_'Till I got her, had I known it could come true_

_I would have wished in '92, for a mermaid just like you_

-“Mermaid,” Train

“Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce frowns into his phone but keeps his voice cheery; Dick sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “Hi, Dick. How are you?”

“Oh, you know… So, I was just wondering, do you still have that massive French wall fountain in the eastern gardens?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do it work?”

“Last I checked it does. Some algae, but I like to think it adds character.”

“Is it still freshwater?”

Bruce sighs. “Yes, it is. Dick, what’s this really about? I know you didn’t just call me up to talk about fountains.”

He hears Dick sniffle. “It’s just… God, Bruce, there’s this itty bitty merbaby that’s been rejected by its pod at the rehab center.”

Bruce hums; Dick’s been volunteering at the marine rehab center for years. It’s forty-five minutes from the Manor on a good day and nestled right up to a long stretch of protected beachfront.

“They tried to kill him, literally kill him,” Dick continues. “Not just reject him and shun him. Murder him. One of the night staff found the whole pod trying to crush him up against the glass or smother him in the sand.”

Bruce clicks his tongue. He remembers Dick’s excitement and horror over taking in a whole group of merpeople who had been caught in some type of biohazard spill. As far as Bruce was aware, the pod had been released a few days ago.

“We just barely managed to get him out alive.” Bruce hears Dick take a breath and then his voice cracks. “He’s not doing so great. It’s been almost two weeks, but he’s just… slipping away.”

Dick rattles off a bunch of complicated medications and experimental supportive care that the center has tried, all the staff who’ve started volunteering their time for the merbaby, that there isn’t a minute that passes by where someone isn’t in a wetsuit and trying to coax the baby to thrive.

“I don’t want him to die in a tank,” Dick admits tearfully.

Bruce has seen the facility: they’re very nice tanks. Very spacious. Clean.

“And putting him in the ocean isn’t any better. He’s just going to be picked up by a bird and ripped apart or something’s going to catch him and sting him and he’s going to suffocate.” Dick sighs, and Bruce knows he’s rubbing at his temples. “Is there any way I could bring him to the fountain? If he’s going to pass, I want it to be in fresh air and under the stars. Someplace quiet and peaceful.”

Bruce is almost too stunned to speak. Dick’s always been fond of animals and has taken their passing hard, but this… this is more than a dolphin slipping away despite the best care in the world.

“Dick, of course you can bring him here,” Bruce says. “I didn’t realize you were so attached.”

Dick laughs, but it’s watery. “We named him, like idiots. I know, I know, don’t name them, you get attached, but we couldn’t keep calling him Baby or M52DC16.”

“What’s his name, Dick?” Bruce coaxes as he starts planning out what he’s going to need for the fountain.

“Timothy,” Dick says fondly. “His name’s Timothy.”

Bruce meets Dick in the front driveway. Dick’s got sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, and Bruce knows it’s just to hide his eyes which are still visibly red and puffy behind the darkened lenses. There’s a massive cooler strapped into the backseat of Dick’s car, and Dick pulls it out with help from Bruce.

“He’s probably carsick,” Dick admits as they head inside to shortcut to the back gardens. Dick’s got a big backpack on his shoulders. “I tried to be gentle, but I heard him squeaking. So if he throws up, it’s probably from the ride over.”

Dick inspects the fountain that’s almost as big as a small pool before pulling his backpack off.

“You said freshwater was alright,” Bruce says to break the silence. “I thought the merbaby was from the ocean?”

Dick kneels down in the gravel pathway lined with budding rosebushes and neatly trimmed hedges before starting going through his bag. He twists his cap backwards on his head.

“Freshwater won’t hurt him,” Dick explains. “His color might fade in he’s exposed for more than a few days, but he’s… he…”

There’s no way for Dick to force out he’s not going to last that long, so it won’t be a problem.

“You said to keep the algae,” Bruce continues before Dick can get upset. “Why?”

Dick’s hands are trembling as he pulls out a vial of clear liquid. “It’s close enough to saltwater algae that Tim can probably eat it and not get sick. Merpeople have surprisingly strong stomachs.” Dick inserts a needle into the vial, draws a very, very tiny amount of liquid into it, and then sets the needle aside. He goes for the cooler, and Bruce can see his smile and lower lip wobbling as he pops the top off.

“Hi, Tim,” Dick all but coos as he leans over and then reaches into the cooler that’s filled almost to the brim with water. “Hi, baby. How are you?”

Bruce gawks; he knows there’s different types of merpeople, that some can get as big as orcas and others don’t grow bigger than porpoises, but this one is barely bigger than a loaf of bread. He’s shorter than Dick’s forearm from head-to-tail, barely as thick, and crying. Little squeaks and squeals echo in the otherwise quiet garden, and Dick eases the merbaby against his shoulder like he would an actual infant before sitting down by his backpack.

“He’s so small,” Bruce whispers in awe while Dick wrestles with the slippery, squirmy merbaby into a firmer hold. He sticks him with the needle, Tim squeaks in displeasure, and then Dick rubs over the sore spot before cupping the merbaby in both hands and lowering him into the fountain.

Tim doesn’t move, and then Dick jiggles his hands a bit. The mer slowly slips out of his grip, swims to the bottom of the fountain, and then just curls up and lays there. Dick leans himself against the rock lip of the fountain and starts to sob while he puts his head in his hands. Any other mer would be exploring their surroundings or putting on an angry show at being manhandled. But Tim’s quiet, despondent, almost lifeless.

“We don’t _have_ hospice for mer,” Dick admits while Bruce sits on the ledge of the fountain, just close enough to let Dick cry against his leg. “This is the best I can do for him.”

Bruce rubs his back and looks at the merbaby, trying to understand why Dick is so heartbroken. The mer is vaguely human shaped from the waist up, but he’s all sharp angles, sharp claws, and sharp teeth. He doesn’t have ears, but there’s little frills on the side of his head and gills down the side of his neck. He’s a very, very pale shade of green, and his tailfin and scales at his waist are just a few shades darker and dotted with deep gold. It’s camouflage, that Bruce understands, and depending on the species of mer, Tim might always keep the subtle coloring, or he might shed his scales and get something brighter. He’s got a dark, full head of hair that sways gently from the currents in the fountain, and big green eyes. He’s arguably adorable, like a baby deer or puppy, but why Dick’s crying so hard against him-

“Oh, hell.” Bruce feels his heart clench when Tim curls up far enough to stick a thumb in his mouth and clutch his tail to his chest like a child would a stuffed animal. That’s a very human gesture that Bruce understands, self-soothing on an infant level, and he slowly pushes Dick away from the fountain so that he can sit down on the gravel and pull him to his chest. “Hey, hey, shush, it’ll be alright.”

Dick just shakes his head, pulls his sunglasses off since they’re in the way of him rubbing at his eyes, and keeps crying. “It’s not fair! He’s just a baby. He’d still be nursing and curling up in a mer’s tailfins to sleep.”

Bruce cranes his head to look into the water. Tim definitely looks sickly; he’s got his ribs sticking out and a listlessness to his limbs that just screams exhaustion and defeat.

“You and everyone at the rehab center did everything you could for him,” Bruce reminds while he holds Dick and pushes his hair away from his face. “Everything. Even if he passes, it won’t be your fault. It’ll hurt, but it won’t be your fault.”

That only makes Dick cry harder. “It’s just not fair!”

“I know it’s not. Why don’t we leave Tim alone for a bit to get settled, and you can come say goodbye before you leave?”

There’s a trellis over this part of the garden that’ll keep the birds out, and despite Bruce’s love of animals, he’s never seen a stray cat or fox come this close to the Manor. Tim is safe, at least from other wildlife.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Bruce coaxes. “I’ll have Alfred make tea.”

Bruce has to physically haul Dick to his feet and almost drag him back towards the Manor, and then it all comes out over Dick’s second cup of tea. Dick had been doing good at the rehab center, great even since he had dropped out of college and taken on a full-time position that had only happened because of how many years he had been volunteering and interning. He had been given more responsibilities, more tasks, and now oversaw a good portion of the rehab; the biohazard spill had been handled under Dick’s direction supervision, and while the whole pod had been released, losing Tim is a massive blow.

“It’s just not fair.” Dick’s settled one hip and has his hand dangling in the fountain. Bruce watches Tim suck on his thumb and follow Dick’s fingers in an almost hypnotic back and forth rhythm. “Tim, what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong, baby?”

Bruce had let Dick info dump on him and Alfred over tea. There’s nothing necessarily medically wrong with the mer, but Tim’s done nothing but lose weight despite the IV fluids and round the clock bottle feedings; Dick admits that being rejected from the pod might be what’s killing Tim, that the emotional wound but be too great despite everything Dick and the team have done for Tim’s physical body. Merpeople are social, but loners aren’t uncommon especially among the bigger species. Even still, Tim’s still an infant by mer standards and far, far too young to be on his own.

“I won’t leave him alone,” Bruce promises as Dick breaks every rule about keeping contact to the absolute minimum as he reaches into the fountain to scoop up Tim and cradle him against his front for no other purpose except that he can and wants to.

Tim gives a few little chirps, the gills on his neck snap shut, and he sprawls against Dick’s shirt with his arms out. It’s nothing short of a hug, and Dick starts to cry again before lifting Tim up so that he can kiss the side of his head.

“Be good, Tim,” Dick whispers. “I just… I love you.”

Tim squeaks. Dick stops crying long enough to wipe his eyes and sit on the fountain so that Bruce can take a picture of them.

“Love you,” Dick repeats over and over again as he nuzzles against the side of Tim’s neck in a way that seems almost too rough given the size difference, but Tim’s just clicking and chirping away like an excited toddler. And then Dick kisses his cheek, lowers Tim back into the fountain, and lets one hand linger in the water. Tim holds onto one finger, looks up at Dick, and then Dick reluctantly pulls back.

He brushes past Bruce without anther word, and Bruce knows that if Dick turned around or even look over his shoulder, he’d never leave, never let go. Bruce sits on the fountain and watches Tim head for the corner and curl up. He looks exhausted, sad, and sick.

“You’re alright,” Bruce says. “I’m not quite sure if this is really better than your tank, but you’re alright.”

He has Dick’s permission to leave Tim alone overnight; Bruce fully expects to find Tim dead in the fountain in the morning, but Tim’s alive, still curled up in his corner, quiet, listless, sad, but alive. The same thing happens the next day, and the day after that. After a week of finding Tim alive in the fountain, Bruce thinks it might not be his time and gets serious; he reads up on mers, mer care, and rehabilitation. He pays careful attention to anything even remotely related to infants, and then he asks Alfred if they still have the fish tank Bruce’s father had kept in one of the studies that Bruce had drained when all the fish had died.

“You seem to be quite… dedicated to Master Dick’s little friend,” Alfred notes while Bruce starts making a list of nutritional supplements he needs to buy.

“Alfred, Dick brought him here to die in peace,” Bruce says while he starts a spreadsheet of locally sourced goat’s milk. “He brought him here to pass somewhere away from tanks and machines and chemicals.” Bruce shakes his head. “I keep expecting to find Tim dead every day I go out to visit, but I don’t. I don’t think he’s done fighting, not yet.”

“Master Dick thought he was,” Alfred notes kindly. “You might just be prolonging a very long, very sad, very painful end.”

Bruce frowns. “I might be. But… I want to try. For him. For Dick. And if I think I’m doing more harm than good, I’ll stop.”

Given his years at Wayne Enterprises and previous accolades for outing a number of corrupt, murderous executives before he turned eighteen, Bruce is allowed quite a bit of leeway. He likes going into the office and seeing people in person, but he also has a perfectly functional home office with headset and accompanying tablet. That, and he has the best wifi money can buy, which means when Bruce spends every twenty minutes sticking an eyedropper stuffed full of goat’s milk, powdered vitamins, and pureed algae into Tim’s mouth, he does so hands’ free while arguing about stockholder dividends.

Dick’s already explained that shoving any type of tube down Tim’s nose or mouth to his stomach usually results in him spitting up the formula, usually through his gills in a truly disgusting display of how all his organs and orifices are connected. Bruce settles for an eyedropper and wrestling with Tim like he’s trying to pill a cat, which usually results in Bruce wrapping Tim in a damp towel to keep his squirming to a minimum while he nestles the tip into the side of Tim’s mouth despite his squeals and clicks of protest. It’s not fun, it’s not pretty, and Bruce is honestly surprised by how much of a fight Tim is able to put up, all in protest of being wrapped up like a burrito and fed.

Once Alfred and Bruce get the massive tank in one of the lesser used rooms ready, Bruce removes Tim from the fountain; it’s easier to keep an eye on him and keep the water at a reliable temperature. That, and it’s easier for Bruce to wash up where there’s a bathroom nearby if Tim splashes him or vomits goo.

Dick stops by for a surprise visit the day after Tim gets moved inside; Bruce finds him staring at the empty fountain.

“I’m glad he was here,” Dick says with a faint smile.

“Dick, Tim’s not-”

“I’m sure it was peaceful.”

“He’s-”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce can’t get a word in edgewise, and then he considers not getting Dick’s hopes up; Tim’s still hanging on by a thread. He’s not any better than he was when Dick first brought him to the Manor, and it’s not fair to tell Dick that Timothy is still alive, not well, but alive. Alfred follows Bruce’s lead and simply keeps his mouth shut about the merbaby in the study who seems to have taken a liking to Bruce’s blender goo and now willingly goes to Bruce to get wrapped up in a wet towel for feedings. Bruce thinks it’s a sign of trust. Alfred thinks Tim just likes pureed peas and carrots.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jason,” Bruce says into his phone while his stomach flips. “How are you?”

Jason and Bruce have been estranged for years; they know where the other lives, their normal schedule, and they have one another’s cell number, but they rarely use it.

“Are you on your motorcycle?” Bruce presses when he hears the familiar hum of Jason’s bike. “You know I don’t like you using the hands-free-”

“Shut the hell up,” Jason snaps. “Where are you? Where’s Alfred?”

“I’m at the office,” Bruce replies. “And Alfred’s with me. We’re having lunch together.”

“Fuck! Fuck!”

Bruce hears Jason’s bike roar, someone blare their horn, and then Jason’s bike kicks it up another notch.

“You need to go home. Right. Now. And calls the cops.”

“Jason, I don’t understand-”

“Dick and I went to one of those day clubs where they don’t serve booze, but some asswipe laced the melon water.”

Bruce tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest; Jason sounds angry, but he also sounds scared.

“I don’t know what was in it, but Dick and all these other people started acting weird. I think it was shrooms or something, but Dick’s out of his fucking mind. He kept talking about hearing voices and he got on his bike before I could stop him. I think he’s tripping.”

And that’s worrisome, because Dick had started freshman year of high school and then the voices and hallucinations had started. Nothing traumatizing, nothing dangerous, but whatever Dick had seen and heard had been enough to scare him into telling Alfred, and Alfred had taken then both to the emergency room without so much as telling Bruce. A month later, and Dick had an official diagnosis of a mood disorder, maybe a little schizophrenia, and some baseline antipsychotics that immediately took care of everything within a few months of being prescribed.

“He kept talking about that dumbass lake at the Manor,” Jason continues in a rush. “And how he wanted to go swimming and see if the lake really did feed into the caves.” Bruce can hear Jason take a sharp breath. “I think he’s going to accidentally drown himself. I’m really scared, Bruce.” Jason takes another breath and his voice steadies. “Dick’s got a five minute head start on me because there was some fucking fender bender outside the club that I got caught in. Call the cops.”

Bruce knows exactly what club Jason is talking about, and he also knows that he can probably make it back to the Manor before either Dick or Jason if he tries hard enough. He grabs Alfred by the wrist and explains everything in a rush; Alfred dials 911, and Bruce inserts an earpiece and dials a number simply labeled as TIM OCN.

Bruce’s sport car drifts to a stop inches before hitting the low rock wall that surrounds the garden. The yard is ripped up from the tires, and the vehicle can’t go any further. Alfred’s out of the car before it’s come to a complete stop, and Jason bails early from his bike from where he’s followed in one of the tire tracks. He and Bruce had hit the drive up to Manor at the same time, and Jason lets the motorcycle slide in the mud as he rips his helmet off and he, Alfred, and Bruce make a dash for the pond.

Dick’s bike was in the driveway, which suggests not only was he speeding, but he probably also took shortcuts which were not on the road. No one knows where he, but there’s a blue and black sneaker on their way to the pond, and if Dick had gotten off at the driveway and ran instead of riding in the grass, he can’t be too far ahead…

“Bruce, what the fuck are you doing?” Jason swears as Bruce continues to whistle. “Seriously, that isn’t going to summon Dick back to us when he’s tripping balls.”

Bruce ignores him, and then they crest a low hill. Dick’s already splashing into the pond, and Bruce is the only one who stops. He stuffs his fingers into his mouth and trills while Alfred and Jason head for the water at a run. Bruce follows, keeps whistling, and then feels his heart lodge in his throat when Dick goes in over his head. He bobs for a few seconds and then goes under.

“Tim, get him!” Bruce all but roars, and then there’s a flash of red and yellow at the opposite end of the pond that immediately heads for Dick.

Jason stops taking his shoes off and rears back in fear and shock when Dick gets dragged over to the edge of the pond; Alfred splashes in without fear and offers a thankful smile at Tim who keeps Dick in a firm rescue hold before letting go. Alfred drags Dick onto the grass, and Tim starts hauling himself up onto land while Bruce starts to whistle again in quick, rapid notes. Tim clicks back at him as he claws his way up the lawn and then flops onto his back.

“The fuck is that?” Jason demands.

“Not now,” Bruce replies shortly.

Dick’s breathing and sitting up by himself. The sound of sirens in the distance steadily grows closer, and Bruce sticks his arm straight up in the air and whistles. Tim tucks his arms to his sides, rolls back into the pond, and Bruce starts clicking and clucking and whistling. Tim takes off into the water and vanishes.

“The fuck?” Jason repeats while Dick sits and stares at the ripples in the water while Alfred pulls weeds from his hair.

“He’ll come back later,” Bruce reassures.

“Why?” Jason demands.

“Because I asked him to.”

Tim lurks in the water, submerged from the nose down, while Alfred pulls a pair of waders on over his clothes. He climbs down a few rocks to a ledge and then sits; he groans fondly when Tim slithers over to him, flips onto his back, and lays himself across Alfred’s lap and throws his arms up above his head with a big smile on his face.

“You’re getting much too big for this,” Alfred says as he pulls on a thin, ribbed, rubber mitt that Jason swears used to be kept in the barn for horse baths. “Much, much too big.” He starts rubbing at the thin scales at Tim’s waist that give way to skin. Tim shivers and clicks; Dick just stares.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” he breathes. “Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I did try to tell you Tim was alive and I moved him inside, but then I didn’t want to get your hopes up. So I told myself if Tim made it a month, I’d tell you. And then it was two months, then ten, then a year… And then I thought about how heartbroken you’d be when I released him back into the wild.”

“Back into the wild?” Jason repeats. “He’s got a freaking Bluetooth! He looks like some toddler’s watercolor painting!”

Tim’s got an earpiece on, and there’s more headsets charging in neat lines on the cave. There’s also a little tracker pierced through one of Tim’s hip frills. Small, unobtrusive, but there. He’s mostly red and gold from the waist down, but there’s patches of green on him all mixed in that does clearly explain his fresh/saltwater upbringing. That, and everything from the waist up is still varying shades of green.

“For emergencies,” Bruce replies with a little huff as he twists one of the floodlights illuminating the cave. “Or in case he gets lonely.”

“You raised a merbaby for how many years, didn’t tell me about it, and got him to save me frown drowning… how?” Dick asks.

Bruce sticks his pinkies into his mouth and starts to whistle; Tim’s ear frills perk up, but he doesn’t move from where he’s still spread out across Alfred’s lap and getting scritches.

“That, more or less, is come home to the pond. I need help.” Bruce taps his ear. “If he’s got the earpiece, I can still get him a few miles out into the ocean. Sheepdog calls are remarkably versatile, and they’re louder underwater than me shouting.” Bruce smiles as Tim starts to drool. “Tim’s very smart. He picked up very quickly.

Jason grabs a second mitt, spreads himself on belly down on the rock, and reaches over to join in on rubbing Tim’s scales. Tim coos and clicks. And then he starts to squirm.

“What’s with the flap?” Jason asks, and Dick descends on him and grabs his wrist before Alfred can.

“He’s a _boy_.”

“So?”

“Think horse, not human.”

“Oh. Shit.” Jason pats Tim’s stomach area. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to shove my hand down your metaphorical pants.”

Tim slides back into the water, stares Dick down, and then Dick toes off his shoes and wades in until he’s waist deep. Tim circles him a few times and then curls up into a little ball; Dick cradles him, and Tim pulls his tailfins to his chest. He’s too big for Dick to actually hold, but Tim sticks his thumb into his mouth and leans his head against Dick’s front.

“You remember,” Dick whispers in awe.

Tim nods and clicks.

“So he can just come and go as he pleases?” Jason asks while Dick rocks Tim back and forth.

Bruce nods. “The cave connects to the ocean, and there’s a few tunnels that lead to the pond.” He smiles faintly. “I remember the first time I brought him down here, I thought he’d never come back. But Tim’s never been gone for more than a day or two; I think he prefers the cuisine and safety.”

There’s a mini fridge filled with fake crab, and Tim absolutely abandons Dick when he hears the package crinkling.

“He’s like a big dog,” Jason says while Bruce tosses strands imitation crab into the water for Tim.

“He’s very smart,” Alfred interjects.

“Right, reading Nietzsche.”

“He’s actually more a Thoreau fan.”

“Seriously?” Jason demands.

“Walden Pond,” Alfred finishes.

Tim circles around Dick once his mouth is stuffed with fake crabmeat. Dick lets his hand trail in the water, and Tim purposefully brushes up against him.

“He’s gorgeous,” Dick gushes. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Tim is arguably handsome, but like a good looking horse rather than a model; he’s one big muscle, and it’s hard to reconcile the sickly infant mer who had fit in Dick’s hand with the large creature winding his way around Dick’s legs, brimming with health and life. But then Tim starts to choke on his crabmeat in his haste to eat, and Dick and Jason grimace when bits flop out the sides of Tim’s gills. Tim shakes and hacks, gets the bits free, and then eats them again.

“That’s disgusting,” Jason deadpans. “What the hell?”

Dick just shrugs; he’s seen other mer and aquatic life eat their own vomit, and that isn’t even digested, regurgitated food. Alfred and Bruce are clearly used to Tim’s eating habits.

“He’s not just a pretty face,” Bruce notes. “Tim, why don’t you go show them your toys?” He whistles, and Tim takes off to a small alcove.

He returns, arms full of brightly colored bobbing objects that he thrusts at Dick. Tim’s beaming, clearly delighted by sharing, and Dick picks up a weighted pool ring the size of a hula-hoop that’s clearly been chewed on. There’s other pool toys, toddler toys, and baby toys.

“So he reads Thoreau, but he also likes puzzle toys?” Jason asks as Tim swims over to the rocks and offers a set of differently sized and colored plastic keys and corresponding book of doors that is clearly geared towards babies.

“Tim is very intelligent,” Alfred offers as he accepts a well-worn plastic milk jug with smalls cut in it and the top glued into place. “But he’s also very toddler-like. He actually reminds me of you when you turned ten. You were quite-”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jason shakes the keys, and that immediately draws Tim’s attention.

The mer lurks just below the surface of the water, eyes locked on the keys as Jason continues to bounce them in his hand. Dick prepares to tell Jason that Tim’s got his tail curled which is usually a warning sign that a mer is going to attack, but he refrains; Jason’s a big boy. Tim explodes out of the water, snatches the keys, and Jason leaps back with an actual scream.

Tim goes back to swimming around Dick’s legs as he plays with the keys. Jason pats his chest and takes a few deep breaths. “Asshole.”

Tim frowns, looks up at Jason, and then sweeps his tail up into an arc; Jason gets soaked, and everyone else begins to laugh.

“Tim can’t speak, but he understands everything we’re saying,” Bruce explains. “His grasp of English is quite astounding.”

Dick’s help raised mer with injuries and disabilities that made them ineligible to be returned to the wild, but he’s never met one as smart as Tim. Tim knows he’s being talked about, cursed at, and loved on. Tim slips between Dick’s legs, almost knocks Dick over as he makes room between the man’s knees for his body, and then just floats there.

“He wants you to scratch his back,” Alfred says. “Don’t be afraid to use your nails and go against the grain.”

Dick sticks both hands into the water and aims for what might be considered Tim’s lower back. He starts to scratch, and Tim goes absolutely boneless before his tail starts to swing back and forth in utter delight. He shivers.

“I just can’t believe it’s Tim,” Dick says with a sigh. “After all these years…” He shakes his head. “I’m assuming I’m not allowed to tell the rehab facility that you raised an infant mer, successfully, I might add, and have developed some type of actual language with him?”

Bruce purses his lips. “I’d prefer if you didn’t. Tim’s… Tim. He’s not human, but he’s certainly not an animal either. Which, by the way… Tim, you have to clean up your toys when you’re done.”

Tim visibly pouts beneath the water.

“You either clean them up, or the tide’s going to take them all away, and I’m not going to buy you more.”

“Really?” Jason whispers; he’s always gotten everything he wanted from Bruce, including guilting the man something fierce during high school and making him buy Jason an antique muscle car for his sixteenth birthday.

Alfred shakes his head, mutters something along the lines of, “Timothy gets everything he could ever imagine and then some,” but Tim reluctantly starts to gather his belongings. He returns to Dick and rubs against his legs.

“Can I come visit?” Dick asks while he leans over and puts his hands in the water; Tim swims over, lets Dick cup his face, and blows a few bubbles.

“I can give you his cell number,” Bruce suggests slowly before Alfred sighs loudly.

“You and Master Jason are welcome to visit whenever you’d like. Master Timothy eats breakfast just after sunup, prefers to spend the daylight hours basking, and is usually back in the cave around sundown.”

Dick smiles. “Tim, sushi date next week?” he asks, and Tim’s ear frills spread out.

“He likes eel better than salmon, but no wasabi,” Alfred reminds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be 2 chapters of nonsense, but it looks like there's going to be at least 1 more.


	3. Chapter 3

Dick huddles under his worn comforter and watches waves break out in the ocean; sure, he works with marine life and loves swimming, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to get up before dawn to go surfing on his day off. Dick groans, tips sideways, flops onto his towel, tugs the hood on his sweatshirt up over his head, and wishes hypothermia on Jason; Dick won’t go surfing, but Jason’s not dumb enough to surf alone on a stretch of empty beach without a lifeguard. He admits he’s still too wary of Tim to ask the mer to come with him, so he’s settled for Dick who’s used to the routine; Dick will doze on a towel, wrapped up in blankets, until Jason’s either caught a good wave or is too cold to move, and then they’ll go get breakfast, Jason will pay, and Dick will steal his leftover hash browns.

Dick’s got a thermos of coffee to help keep him warm, and he’s drained most of it by the time the sun has fully risen. He sees Jason wave his arm in a familiar “ten more minutes” signal, and Dick waves back. Jason’s too cautious of Tim to ask Tim to lifeguard, but Tim’s tagged along anyways; he’s splishing and splashing in big puddle of water created by a sandbar like a toddler, rolling around and getting sand everywhere while he flicks water. Dick knows it’s partly for fun and partly for cleaning; Tim can rub parasites and loose scales off in the hard sand and shells. Most mer rarely venture onto land, but Dick knows a few species that tend to mate on land, and he’s caught a few mer sunning themselves like seals on rocky shorelines.

Tim’s hauled himself up onto the slick cave floor before, but it’s mostly to change his headset or go after the fridge filled with imitation crabmeat. He also follows Bruce and Alfred around in the cave, around the edge of the pond, and drags himself in the shallows when the pair walk on the beach. It certainly explains Tim’s upper body strength and abs; it can’t be easy moving his entire bodyweight around on just his hands without the water to buoy him.

Dick watches Jason catch a wave and ride it out before he goes back for another. Jason’s a good surfer, and Dick laughs when Jason suddenly goes unsteady, pinwheels his arms, and falls into the water. The wave crashes over him, and Jason grabs his board, intent on hauling himself back, up before he suddenly goes under and then bobs up to the surface again. He starts splashing and waving his arms. Dick drops his thermos, abandons his blanket, and grabs his surfboard and life preserver.

“Tim, help!” Dick shouts before grabbing the sheepherding whistle strung around his neck and putting it between his teeth and blowing; he’s not quite as good as Bruce, but Dick knows a number of whistles, including help.

Tim rolls onto his belly, lifts himself into a perfect cobra pose until his head nearly touched his back fins, and then heads for the water. He’s a big creature, far from graceful on land, but Tim can really move when he wants to. He lumbers for the water like a seal, all momentum and rocking. Tim disappears into a wave.

Dick almost thigh deep when he’s knocked back; Tim surfaces, bares his teeth in an obvious “get out of the water” message, and Dick complies; sharks aren’t common, but it certainly explains what happened to Jason. Dick gets out of the water and looks out to Jason’s surfboard which is now vertical, halfway drowned, and bobbing in the water. He sees the tips of Tim’s red and gold flippers break the surface of the water, and then there’s nothing.

“Jason,” Dick breathes, and Jason’s head breaks the surface for just a moment, his surfboard pops up, and then he goes back under.

Water churns just beyond him, and then Dick sees more red and gold splattered with green. There’s a horrible screeching noise, and Dick watches Jason claw his way back onto his surfboard just as two writhing figures splash frantically a few feet away; one is clearly Tim, but the other thing is orange and black with flashes of white.

Dick wants nothing more than to go out and get Jason, but Tim showed his teeth for a reason. Jason’s visibly bleeding even from a distance, but he slowly paddles his way back to shore. Dick’s willing to risk going knee-deep in the water, and he grabs Jason and hauls him the rest of the way onto shore. There’s a deep gash from hip to thigh bleeding everywhere and the rest of Jason’s wetsuit is similarly sliced.

“Holy shit, Dick.” Jason coughs and lets Dick lay him down in the sand. “It’s another mer.” He spits up more water. “Tim went after it.” Jason weakly kicks his ankle and the little black cuff around his ankle. “He took my tether and started to strangle it when it wouldn’t let me go.” Jason moans when Dick peels the wetsuit by his mangled leg back.

“Jason, this is deep.” All the other wounds look superficial compared to the big gash. “Let me get my towel-”

“That mer is twice the size of Tim,” Jason interrupts. “Tim’s going to get killed-”

Dick just barely manages to drag Jason further up onto the beach when the two mers explode out of the shallows in a tangle of limbs and tails and up onto the beach. They’re both bloodied, but it’s clear that the bigger mer has the upper hand; he’s got his massive black and orange tail wrapped around Tim’s to keep him pinned, but Tim’s snarling and using his claws to go after the mer’s remaining eye.

“No!” Dick shouts before throwing himself at the white haired mer with a vengeance and going for a chokehold. “Get off him!”

Dick’s no stranger to violent, scared mer; he’s been hurt before, usually by accident, but this mer he recognizes as the black and orange one who had been brought in for a badly injured fin from a marina accident who had been smart enough to use just his upper body to climb the bars of his enclosure and get into the enclosures of some other female mer. That had been a fun scene for intern Dick to see at six in the morning, but at least he had learned about mer mating habits.

“You almost drowned me after my sixteenth birthday!” Dick growls, and all bets are off.

The black and orange mer is a straight up bastard. Dick switches his chokehold for something a little more… dirty. He digs his fingers into the gills lining the mer’s throat and yanks. Hard. The mer grumbles a bit, and Tim lets out a squeak as the other mer digs its own sharp nails into Tim’s side. Tim claws a line down the mer’s cheek. Dick pulls harder and then wraps himself around the mer from behind and brings one heel up and around. He digs it into the soft bit at the mer’s front, gets no reaction, and then Dick buries his teeth into the mer’s neck and gills until he tastes blood and kicks down hard against the flap of scales that denotes the mer as a male. That finally gets a reaction; the mer releases Tim, bucks Dick off, and retreats to the water where he lurks in the shallows.

“Tim!”

Tim’s obviously dazed, but Dick’s more concerned about the alarming amount of blood soaking into the sand from Tim’s side.

“I’ll live,” Jason bites out as Dick grabs his towel and blanket and looks between his brother and the mer who had just saved him. “I’m not bleeding out. He is.”

Dick’s already got 911 on the phone about a mer attack. He cuts the operator off and hangs up once there’s confirmation about an ambulance being dispatched, and then he calls the rehab center.

“You’re going to be fine,” Dick says as he holds the towel against Tim’s side. “We’re going to patch you up, and we’ll hide all your pills in crabmeat.”

Tim chirps. Dick bursts into tears. “I just got you back. It’s not fair…”

Jason crawls over; he’s wet, breathing heavy, and pale, but still alert. “You won’t lose him, but you have got to put some fucking pressure on that.”

Tim, by far, is the easiest mer Dick has ever dealt with, no doubt due to Bruce’s hands-on upbringing. He doesn’t fight when he’s loaded up into a van to the rehab center, doesn’t fight the needles, anesthesia, or various monitors and being manhandled, and wakes up in an unfamiliar pool with a side full of stitches without so much as a click. Dick’s coworkers offer a glowing review of the mer while Dick pulls on a wetsuit, intent on getting in the tank despite every warning and reminder that Tim’s a predator, he’s got teeth and claws and muscles, and he’s injured and probably scared.

“He won’t hurt me,” Dick insists as he slides into the chest-deep water while other people stand anxiously around, ready to tranq Tim in case he goes after Dick; there’s a no swimming with mers over ten pounds rule for a reason, but Dick can’t exactly say, “it’s alright, my dad raised this mer I brought him and thought died over a decade ago, he’s safe.”

Tim’s resting against the side of the tank, limp and lax and obviously still drugged. But Dick stamps one foot hard against the bottom flooring, and Tim lifts his head a bit. He’s slow and sluggish, but he swims over to Dick, obviously mindful of his side and how the stitches pull, and rubs up against Dick’s legs. Dick leans over, gathers as much of Tim as he can in his arms, and cradles him. He’s careful to keep Tim’s gills in the water; the mer looks pale, and despite Tim’s obvious ability to hold his breath for minutes at a time above water, his system doesn’t need to be taxed.

“Hey, Tim,” Dick greets while Tim rolls over in his arms so that he’s face up. “How are you doing, buddy?”

Tim blows a few sloppy bubbles and then forgets to close his mouth. If he was above water, he’d be drooling. Dick jiggles his arms a bit; Tim closes his mouth.

“You saved Jason,” Dick says, and the other employees begin whispering excitedly. “He’s going to be fine. Sore, but fine. He’s got some stitches just like you.”

Tim offers the faintest of smiles, winces, and Dick hurriedly lets him go. Tim floats for a few seconds before he sinks to the bottom of the tank. Dick frowns when he belly crawls back to the wall and bumps against it. He lays down, tucks all his fins against his side, and then pulls the ends of his tail to his chest and curls around them. Dick can see one hand stray to his mouth, but Tim settles the back of his hand against his cheek instead. Tim glances over his shoulder only long enough for Dick to see him lose the battle against sleep as his eyelids flutter shut.

“He’s still pretty drugged,” one of the vets notes when Dick just stares. “Aside from the pain pills and stuff to keep him calm, he’s still got some anesthesia in his system. He’ll probably be spunkier tomorrow once it wears off.”

Tim’s certainly more awake after a day of letting the drugs wear off and a full night’s sleep, but it’s clear he’s uncomfortable; he’s got a hitch when he swims, no doubt to try and keep himself from pulling too hard on his stitches when he moves. As promised, all of Tim’s oral meds are stuffed inside imitation crabmeat, but it’s clear Bruce has fed Tim this way before, because Dick abusing the packaging earns little more than one ear frill twitching.

Dick knows it’s because Tim isn’t feeling well, that Tim would be out of the tank and following Dick around on his hands at any other time, but he’ll be damned if Tim misses his antibiotics and pain pills because they’re a little bitter.

“Dick, I don’t think-”

“That’s a really, really bad idea-”

Dick’s got enough seniority at the rehab center that no one physically stops him when he grabs a Ziploc bag of fake crab and slides into the water. Tim’s fully awake, pressed up against one side of the tank with both arms beneath his head. He’s due for more tranq and pain pills that normally lull most mer into a doze. Dick shakes the bag, gets one frill to open up, and then he rattles the bag underwater. Tim’s other frill drops open like a fan, and he raises his head and looks over his shoulder.

“Come on, Tim, food. Look, it’s your favorite,” Dick coaxes. “Fake crabmeat. Yum. There’s Pollock in this.”

Tim narrows his eyes, turns his nose up at the offer, and lays his head back down; Dick’s been dismissed. Dick feels his blood pressure rise, because he _knows_ Tim knows the pills are to make him better, and given that Tim has curled up in his arms like a very, very large cat before, Dick’s willing to risk shoving his arm down Tim’s throat. But, he’s willing to be gentle first, give it a shot before resorting to firmer methods.

But Tim refuses to be coaxed or otherwise forced into taking his pills. He’s weak from blood loss and surgery, but he’s still strong enough to sweep Dick off his feet using just his tail and without a whole lot of effort. Dick surfaces, pushes his hair back from his face, and gets out of the tank and stomps over to an empty storage closet.

“Dick?” Bruce’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper; Jason must be sleeping. Bruce had driven to the hospital and immediately camped himself inside Jason’s room once he was allowed to have visitors.

“You couldn’t have kept all your stubbornness to yourself?” Dick demands. “Because some of it has definitely rubbed off on Tim, and I can’t get him to take his pills.”

He hears Bruce go deadly silent for a few moments. “Oh, I see.” Bruce clears his throat. “Did you try-”

“He won’t take the fake crabmeat.”

“Did you try sushi?”

Dick frowns. “Bruce, you regularly fly to Japan, I _know_ you know what sushi is-”

“No, not that imitation crab garbage,” Bruce interrupts. “Order five eel rolls from your nearest sushi joint, give Tim two without pills, put his pills in the third, and then give him another one without a pill, and you eat the fifth. It works every time for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed or left a kudo. V wasn't expecting so many people to enjoy mer!Tim. (Who is oh so loosely based on V's dog who sometimes surprises V with how intelligent she is, and other times proves that she is dumb as rocks. It's a delicate balance.)
> 
> Yes, V does enjoy imitation crab meat. Immensely. Without the sushi rice. Just rip the bag open and eat it straight.
> 
> For anyone lucky enough to have a body of water nearby to enjoy, make sure to follow Jason's lead and always swim with a buddy!


	4. Chapter 4

“Who’s a little baby? Who’s a cute little baby? You are!”

Jason just makes a face as he watches Bruce scrub Tim down with one of the rubber horse mitts. The cave is dark and cool, a welcome relief from the hot, humid summer. The baby talk, however, is a bit much, because Tim’s a two-hundred pound plus predator, even if he is showing his belly to Bruce and clicking happily.

“Such a good boy,” Bruce continues as he bodily rolls Tim over and continues to stroke firmly. “So good.”

There’s loose scales littering the water, and Jason lingers on the ledge overlooking the pool. He doesn’t miss Bruce carefully turning Tim onto his side and propping him up on his knee to get a closer look at the mer’s side. There’s a decent sized scar, but it’s healed cleanly, and based on previous experience and injuries, Dick thinks it’s going to fade until it’s barely noticeable.

“Good boy,” Bruce praises as he gently prods at the mark with his fingers. “What a good boy.”

Tim’s little chitters fade off, and then he lets out a yelp when Bruce hits a still tender spot. Tim thrashes, and Bruce immediately lowers his knee; Tim heads for a little underwater alcove that’s just big enough to hide himself in, although the ends of his tail wave in the current beyond the rock.

“Tim, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Bruce apologies before whistling softly. “Jason, can you throw me something for Tim?”

Tim doesn’t leave his hole, not even when Bruce starts tossing chunks of fake crabmeat into the water.

“He knows you didn’t mean it,” Jason says as he pulls on a pair of waders, gets into the water, then shoos Bruce off once he has the bag in hand. His leg is more or less whole and hale thanks to Tim with a similar scar that all his doctors say will continue to fade in a few more months. “Tim, come on out, you know Bruce didn’t mean to hurt you. Come on, you big baby.”

Jason tosses a few more lumps, and Tim slithers out. He eats, eyes locked on Jason, and then approaches with caution and rubs against Jason’s legs like a cat. Jason touches him, and Jason doesn’t miss the flinch when one hand strays too close to Tim’s side.

“Hey, I got messed up as well,” Jason warns before patting his thigh. “I bet it hurt more when that asshole clawed you.”

Tim nods and then swims back to his alcove when Bruce steps back down into the water.

“Tim’s not used to pain,” Bruce says with a sigh. “Which I’m equal parts glad and upset about. Tim, come on out. I’m sorry.” Bruce whistles again. “I didn’t meant to hurt you.”

Tim slowly comes out, but he doesn’t get close enough to touch. He’s clearly wary of Bruce, understandably so, and Jason distances himself from the older man until Tim’s close enough to brush up against him.

“Give me that mitt,” Jason says, and he takes over rubbing Tim down.

Bruce sits in the water, intent on waiting Tim out, and then notices that Jason keeps looking at him. “What?”

“No, it’s just…” Jason shrugs and returns his attention to Tim. “I’ve been at the Manor more times in the past six months than I have been in the past five years, all because of this thing.” He pats Tim’s flank, and Tim flicks his tail up to lightly splash Jason. “I guess I’m just sort of surprised it took a mer to get us together.”

Bruce smiles faintly; he’s not about to argue with that logic, mostly because it’s perfectly true.

“You’re a good mer,” Jason says while he continues to scrub at Tim’s scales. “You have any embarrassing stories about Bruce you want to share? You know, for blackmail.”

The muscles above Tim’s eyes twitch, and Jason just offers a feral grin at Bruce; Tim’s not much for talking or texting, but his body language and facial expressions speak for themselves.

“Right, right, when he’s gone,” Jason says, and Tim coos.

“Make sure you get under his little fins,” Bruce calls with a sigh.

Jason and Dick aren’t exactly chummy with one another, but Dick will lifeguard for Jason, and they have a standing pizza date once a month. But Dick’s suddenly come down with some type of virus, which means Jason’s home alone with a full pie, half cheese, half garlic, and no company. Which isn’t a problem because Dick can reschedule when he’s feeling better, but… Jason was sort of looking forward to it. He likes to vent, and Dick is always a sympathetic ear.

It’s just past sundown, and Jason eats two slices of pizza before curling up on the couch. He puts in his earbud and then hesitates before calling Tim’s number. He remembers Alfred telling him something about Tim heading for the safety of the cave at night, and Jason’s hoping he’s in for the evening.

Tim answers with a coo, and Jason sits up a bit straighter.

“Hey, Tim.”

Tim clicks back at him.

“How are you doing?” Jason winces; he’s making small talk with a mer.

Tim clicks again, and Jason recognizes it as, “doing fine. How are you?”

“Eh, okay. I was supposed to have dinner with Dick, but he got sick.”

A sympathetic coo.

“Yea, it sucks. Some stomach bug or something.” Jason goes his half-finished can of soda. “He probably won’t be wanting pizza for a while.”

Tim clicks back, and Jason frowns. He’s been pretty good picking up Tim’s weird mer language that he uses with Bruce, but he’s far from fluent.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t catch that.” Jason frowns. “Tim, maybe I shouldn’t have called, Dick is way better at understanding you than I am-”

Jason gets an invitation for a video chat from Tim, and he props his phone up against one knee. Tim’s face fills the screen, and then he backs away; he’s probably got a spotlight setup and a tablet wrapped in plastic. He’s obviously in the cave, completely and comfortably submerged, and he offers a throaty click and frown.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I won’t get better if I don’t practice,” Jason mumbles. Tim’s so much easier to understand when Jason can read his expressions and body language. He may not understand every word, but he can generally get the gist.

“You ever have pizza before?” Jason asks before tilting his phone to show off the box.

Tim goes wild; he spins a few circles, clicks, and then explains in no uncertain terms that pizza is a very special treat because it usually makes him sick. Jason just nods.

“Yeah, all that cheese and grease and carbs probably can’t be good for your stomach. What do you and Bruce call this?”

Tim carefully enunciates a series of short squeaks. Jason grabs his whistle and repeats.

“Hey, you have any swear words? Like bad words?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V has one more "chapter" left after this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V was going to split this up, but she decided to keep everything together. Enjoy the last chapter!

Alfred enjoys many things in life, but there’s something particularly nice about lunch by the pond. There’s a wrought iron chair and table with umbrella stand situated just beyond the reeds and rotting wooden dock that Bruce had once used as a boy. There’s a large plastic chest that houses the umbrella, and Alfred pulls it out and sets it up while he keeps one eye on the pond and for Tim; Tim doesn’t always join him for lunch, but Alfred is always sure to tell him when he’s dining on fish. Today’s menu is a cedar plank salmon carefully grilled and garnished with dill and a side of délice cheese and champagne. Alfred has a separate piece of salmon he intends to just barely cook for Tim as well as a plate of cheese; Tim is the only mer Dick has met that isn’t lactose intolerant, but he is a lightweight when it comes to booze. All it takes is one glass of anything alcoholic to get him sloppy.

Tim keeps to his own schedule, but Alfred is still disappointed when he hasn’t seen neither hair nor scale of the mer by the end of his meal. Alfred definitely told him that they were having fish, and Tim rarely misses the opportunity for something a little more exotic than what he can find close to Gotham. Tim does all his own hunting and has dragged some truly massive fish into the cave, but he’s not above treats and bribery.

“There you are,” Alfred says as he gets up from his chair when he spots a flash of red and yellow. “You’re awfully late today, I was afraid you didn’t want- Tim!”

Tim swims to the shallows, pulls himself up onto the grass, and starts to thrash. There’s long red welts covering Tim, but Alfred is thankful to see none of them are higher than his chest and most are on his arms. They look like jellyfish stings, but Alfred distinctly remembers Dick saying that Tim was likely mostly immune to most stings; that, and Tim frequently ate jellyfish. Tim’s obviously trying to get the stingers off in the grass, but Alfred can’t even think of how Tim got stung since there’s rarely swarms of jellyfish and it’s not even jellyfish season.

But then Alfred spots a few oblong shapes in the pond slowly floating to the surface, and Alfred sees red. They’re jellyfish, but the tunnels from the lake to the cave go down with gravity; Tim has a current to fight to get up to the surface, and Bruce has gone scuba diving before and he knows Tim uses his claws to help him go up. There’s no way the jellyfish stuck to Tim all the way up the passage, and absolutely no way they wandered up themselves. The only way they got in the pond was if someone put them there, at it certainly wasn’t Tim.

Alfred doesn’t have his phone on him. Tim’s earpiece is gone, and Alfred watches him roll around with a groan before he finally starts to slow. Tim’s in obvious pain, but he doesn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing which is relief. Alfred catches something move out of the corner of his eye, and he whips around.

There’s a black and orange mer lurking in the shallows, well beyond the jellyfish, with bits of seaweed tied around him. Alfred remembers Jason’s description of when he was attacked surfing, and suddenly everything clicks into place; Alfred isn’t stupid enough to believe that Tim’s the only intelligent mer around, so Alfred yanks the umbrella free, closes it, gets a good hold on it, and then heads for the water. The mer doesn’t back down; he slides forward when Alfred steps into the water and then makes the mistake of trying to puff himself up and look bigger. Alfred might be a bit older than he was when he saw combat, but he raised Bruce Wayne. He wallops the mer across the head with the umbrella, and then the mer takes off. He leaves a faint trail of blood in the water, and Alfred throws the umbrella aside, thankful that he hadn’t gone with some cheap plastic and bought something sturdier instead.

“Tim, I have to get my phone,” Alfred says while Tim continues to rub himself against the grass, but he’s sluggish now. “I’ll call Dick. I’m sorry, but you’re too big for me to drag to the house. I’ll be right back.”

Tim offers a tiny nod. By the time Alfred gets back, Tim’s clawed himself bloody.

“I have strict instructions to get you into hot water,” Alfred notes. “Dick will be over as soon as he can. In the meantime…”

Alfred has a golf cart that is used mainly for bitterly cold days in order to retrieve the mail. But, Bruce and Dick were once boys who rode ponies around the Manor, so the golf cart is appropriately jacked up for all terrain and extra horsepower. It’s more like a four-seater ATV, so all Alfred needs to do is coax Tim through the two back bars like a log. His fins will drag the ground, but considering the grass, Alfred thinks he won’t even rub any scales free. The hot tub in the back by the pool has already been turned to hot, so Alfred takes it slow and steady back up the main house.

“Come on, Tim, up. Up!”

Alfred has no purchase on the slick plastic of the hot tub, but he’s got a death drip on one of Tim’s arms as he tries to drag the mer in. Tim’s gone stiff and twitchy like he’s having a seizure, but Dick’s already assured him it’s just the jellyfish venom messing with Tim’s muscles. Alfred apologizes for his rough grip, locks his knees, and then braces his feet against a seat and leans back. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tim starts to slide in. Water pours over the sides of the hot tub from the excess mass, and Tim finally submerges. He curls up as best he can and leans his torso and head on a seat. Alfred is quick to get out and fetch his tweezers.

Dick watches Bruce pace back and forth across the patio and occasionally stop and pat Tim on the head. The mer’s hanging partway out of the hot tub, doped up on antihistamines and painkillers. There’s no way to put cream on any of the welts and have it stay, so Dick’s settled for lacing bandages with lotion and then covering it with plastic wrap. Tim looks like a Saran-wrapped nightmare, and he crinkles whenever he moves. His tail continues to sway back and forth amongst the bubbles, and Dick clears his throat when Brue stops to pet Tim’s hair and doesn’t move.

“So, Deathstroke?” Dick prompts. One of the interns had gotten to name the black and orange mer; Dick had thought it silly at the time, but the name seems almost fitting now.

“You can track him, can’t you?” Bruce asks before pulling his hand away.

Tim clicks softly. Dick rolls his eyes and sits himself on the edge of the hot tub with his feet in the water so he can keep stroking Tim’ hair. Tim coos, crosses his arms, and rests his head on top of them with care. He starts to nod off.

“Deathstroke’s tracker is… faulty,” Dick explains. “We usually do temp ones, but he kept ripping them off so we went for one under the skin. It only pings when he surfaces, and he went dark for almost six months before it finally went off. He’s smart.”

Bruce scowls. “He’s tried to kill all three of my boys at least once.” He sighs in exasperation. “He’s definitely tried to kill you _specifically_ on more than one occasion!”

Dick just makes a face and nods; it’s true. Tim huffs, a noise made primarily by forcing air through his gills. Dick shushes him.

“Are you suggesting we hunt him?” Alfred asks from a patio chair where he’s been dutifully rolling sushi for the past half hour and stuffing itty bitty pieces of antibiotics in for Tim.

“Bruce, we can’t… Deathstroke is an asshole, but he’s just a wild mer doing wild mer things,” Dick insists. “He’s probably territorial and feels threatened by Tim. Right, Tim? You’re super terrifying. You’re the alpha mer around here.” Tim flutters his ear frills a bit, coughs on a piece of sushi Alfred tosses into his mouth, and Dick grabs the seaweed hanging out of Tim’s gills and feeds it to him again. “Chew,” Dick reminds.

“I can’t keep Tim locked in the cave where he’s safe because there’s some murderous mer out there,” Bruce says. “Why is this a problem now? Tim’s never bothered anyone or anything in his life.”

Dick just shrugs. “Deathstroke migrates a ton. Maybe this is the first time he’s seen Tim and feels threatened and wants to… uh… take him out.”

“And Jason?”

Dick waves the hand not buried in Tim’s scalp. “Mer attacks _do_ happen, Bruce. Sunrise, surfboard, another male mer in the vicinity, it’s a recipe for disaster.”

Bruce looks quiet sour. Alfred brings over the plate of completed sushi, and Tim raises his head just enough to be fed; he’s got creases on his cheek from leaning against the plastic covering his arms.

“Can we relocate Deathstroke?” Bruce asks. “Take him somewhere else?”

Dick just shrugs. “He’ll probably just come back. Realistically, Tim would need to put the beat down on him and make him think twice about coming around or attacking him again, but I’m not sure Tim has it in him.”

According to Jason, Tim has been downright vicious when Jason had been attacked. Maybe that’s why Deathstroke had gone for the jellyfish route this time. Even so, Tim’s significantly smaller than the older mer, and despite the missing eye, it’s clear he’s a much more experienced fighter.

“I think he does,” Bruce all but mutters.

Tim smiles and lifts his tail out of the hot tub and lets it flop back and forth like a pleased dog.

“I guess we could always help Tim out,” Dick says before pulling his phone out. He begins typing one-handed and pulls up a truly wicked looking gauntlet with razor-sharp talons capping each finger. “I bet Deathstroke would think twice if Tim was a bit scarier. Right, Tim?”

Tim just dips his tail back into the water and shrugs. He clicks and Bruce and Alfred nod.

“I didn’t catch that,” Dick says. “Tim either said he doesn’t want to fight, or he’s going to eat rocks.” Tim repeats the same few clicks. Dick nods. “Right. I really wouldn’t fight to him either.” He eyes all the covered jellyfish stings. “But you’re smart too, Tim. Smarter even.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Jason whispers from inside the cave while Dick holds up a tablet showing two little dots on the screen. “Deathstroke isn’t stupid enough to fall for-”

“Oh, shove it,” Dick hisses. “I literally work with mers, and Deathstroke is definitely stupid enough to fall for this. Hell, Tim is even stupid enough to fall for this because it’s _that_ simple.”

“Ug, fine.”

“Shut up. Tim’s almost on him.” Dick watches one dot creep closer to the other one. “Oh, and there they go. Come on, Tim!”

The two dots overlap, and then one starts streaking across the screen. The other follows close behind.

Tim rockets into the cave inches below the water a few minutes later. He curves around a wall worn smooth by years of high and low tide just as Deathstroke enters. Deathstroke is fast, but he’s not as quick as Tim. Tim’s already got momentum on his side, and he exits the cave while Deathstroke mirrors his route, apparently intent on rebounding off the wall as well for a boost.

Jason can’t help but howl with laughter when the big mer slams into the gate that had dropped just after Tim had left. Tim’s got a few scrapes on the tips of his tailfins from the gate, but it’s clearly worth it as he taunts Deathstroke beyond the metal. Deathstroke immediately heads for the passage that leads to the lake, but that’s already been blocked.

“Hey, over here,” Dick calls as he taps the water with a long broom.

Deathstroke explodes out of the water with a hiss, hits the floor, and slides a bit. Dick and Jason retreat to the stairs, and Dick just sighs and spins the broom around his wrist and hand.

“Look, I know you have the upper body to do stairs, but I’m willing to bet money that Jason and I can make it up quicker than you,” Dick says. “Tim, tell him we’re quicker?”

Tim’s clicks and squeaks echo in the cave from a speaker attached to his earpiece. Deathstroke growls and slowly pushes himself back into the water.

“Okay, B, we got him,” Dick says into his phone. “Come on down.”

Deathstroke doesn’t seem to care about Bruce, but he does hiss and move further back when Alfred appears with a closed umbrella in hand.

“That’s what I thought,” Alfred says simply. “Behave, and I won’t hit you again.”

Tim snickers. Bruce goes immediate to the edge of the cave floor and crouches, well within striking distance, and joins Tim’s conference call so Tim can translate.

“You’ve tried to kill everyone in this cave at least once,” Bruce says slowly, and he waits for Tim’s clicking to stop before continuing. “Did you want to try going after me? Because I may not be as big and strong as you are, but I do think I might be smarter.”

Jason gasps. “Tim, watch your language!” he snaps. “Bruce did _not_ say that about his mother!”

“The way I see it, you have two options,” Bruce explains slowly. “Either you leave Tim alone, or I keep you in this cave until you learn to behave. I personally think ignoring one mer in the whole entire ocean is much easier than spending the rest of your life in here.”

“I work with mer,” Dick adds. “I have guns and tranq readily available if I find you harassing Tim and need to bring you back here.”

“I just have a good arm,” Jason says before flexing one bicep. “I not above beating you with an umbrella or pipe or whatever.”

“I would not mind hitting you for hurting Tim with those jellyfish,” Alfred finishes as he taps the umbrella against his palm. “That was very clever.”

The mer sinks deeper into the water and must vocalize something, because Tim offers a crystal clear set of chirps that amounts to, “he gives up, he’ll agree to leave me alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a kudo or reviewed: some of them made V laugh very hard! This is all she has written at the moment, but she has one last idea she wants to try and type out since itty bitty baby mer!Tim was such a hit. Stay tuned! Maybe she'll get it done in a few weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

This. _This_ is what a baby mer should be: curious, energetic, and absolutely adorable. Dick takes a deep breath and kneels down in the saltwater pool as he holds both arms out. He just catches Tim’s muted tailfins out of the corner of his eye, and his fingertips just barely brush Tim’s side. He hears the mer’s excited squeals of delight, and then something pinches Dick’s calf. He stands up, shakes his hair out his eyes, and then pulls his goggles off.

“No biting,” Dick says firmly as he wags his index finger at Tim who lurks just below the surface of the water and out of reach. “I don’t have a wetsuit on. No biting.” Dick wants to sound angrier because Tim’s little nibble is going to probably bruise, but Tim’s just so cute and tiny and- Dick feels his mouth turn up, and Tim dives down into the pool once he’s flipped his tail out of the water. This is what Dick missed out on; a happy, healthy, itty bitty mer baby.

“Just wait until you have to feed him,” Bruce warns from his pool chair.

“But he’s so cute,” Dick gushes. He never got to experience Tim as a playful baby, just a sickly infant. “I bet he’ll eat anything I give him.”

Bruce rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. “He was a picky eater as a baby. And most of time, he ended up regurgitating his food.” Bruce shudders. “Alfred remembers. Right, Alfred?”

Alfred just nods from beneath his umbrella where he’s been steadily working through his crossword puzzle with input from Jason who’s spread out on his back with his swim shorts rolled up for maximum sun exposure. He’s fast asleep now, but he had been helpful earlier in the day.

“I will have no part in feeding Tim,” Alfred says distractedly as he pencils in another word. “I did my time, and so did Master Bruce. Never again. I’d sooner let Tim starve until that nasty bit of magic wears off before trying to feed him.”

Dick looks at the mer who’s spinning circles around an inflatable duck toy. “How much trouble could he be?”

Bruce just chuckles darkly, mutters something about wearing a bib, and then leans back in his chair.

Tim starts to tucker out before lunch, and Dick wraps him up in a cold, damp towel before heading for the kitchen, mer tucked beneath one arm like a football.

“Bruce and Alfred said you were such a fuss to feed,” Dick says as he grabs a bag of fake crabmeat from the fridge.

He sets Tim, towel and all, on the counter before heading for one of the deep sinks. He turns the water on, makes sure it’s cool, and then clicks the button to turn the stream of water into a rainspout. He sits Tim beneath the water and smirks at the door that leads out to the patio; who do Alfred and Bruce think he is? He can understand Jason maybe struggling to feed the baby mer, but Dick’s works at an aquarium: feeding babies is literally in his job description.

“Alright, Tim snack time,” Dick says as he tears a strip of Pollock-crab mix into a much more manageable size. “Come on, food.”

Tim turns his nose up at the offered fish and goes so far as to hiss and snap at Dick when the food gets closer to his mouth. Dick quickly retreats, shocked. Tim rolls around in the sink with a quiet chirp.

“Alright, alright, fine. There’s plenty of other snacks for you,” Dick says. “We’ll find something you like.”

Tim eats a piece of baked salmon so quickly that Dick almost loses a finger, but Tim vomits it all up seconds later. Dick tries pacing him, giving him bites at a time, but Tim starts to cough and gag and then pink and white mush begins to ooze out his gills. Dick has to grab the spout and carefully wash Tim until he’s no longer choking.

“I need help,” Dick admits to Bruce and Alfred; he’s not about to waste two hours trying to feed Tim. He already gets to do that at work, but at least he gets paid to get puked on. “He keeps vomiting everything I give him, even when I feed him slowly.”

Bruce pulls his sunglasses off, offers a grin, and then closes his hand into a fist. He and Alfred first bump in the air, and then Bruce settles back into his chair.

“There’s an eyedropper in the cabinet to the left of the sink in the junk drawer. Shove some fish, no fake crab, into the blender with warm water and a pinch of salt. Tim should get one full eye dropper every fifteen minutes. Any sooner, and he’ll most likely spit up.”

Dick rocks Tim in his arms. “How long did it take you to figure that out?”

Bruce groans. Alfred huffs. “Too long.”

Jason wakes up shortly after Tim’s been fed and Dick is settling him into some type of floating pool basket that consists of a salad spinner, pool noodle, and what seems to be copious amounts of barge cement. It’s clearly old, and the pool noodle glued around the rim of the salad spinner is starting to peel off. Jason just stares at Bruce and then motions with one hand. Bruce doesn’t notice.

“What the fuck is that?” Jason asks while Dick deposits the mer into the basket and then gives it a little push into the pool.

Tim grabs onto the noodle and pulls his head above the lip of it, but Bruce whistles sharply at him, and Tim dunks himself. Jason get up and watches Tim curl himself up into a little ball.

“I was scared he’d get sucked into the filter if he fell asleep,” Bruce says distractedly as Alfred passes him the crossword puzzle. “I wanted to be able to keep an eye on him while Alfred and I gardened.”

“So you glued a pool noodle to a salad spinner?” Jason asks. “You couldn’t have gotten him any type of actual pool toy or one of those mesh floating chairs?”

“Tim likes sleeping in enclosed spaces,” Bruce continues while he pencils in a word. “I think it’s a safety thing. Dick, make sure you put the top on. I don’t want Tim getting burned or some bird thinking they get an easy meal.”

Dick sighs, but he swims out to the basket and puts the top on. He peeks through one of the holes and finds Tim staring back at him, but he’s only got one eye open and it’s nearly shut.

“You two live very, very strange lives,” Jason tells Bruce and Alfred.

“It was weirder when Tim got too big for the tank,” Bruce explains. “He spent almost two months in the bathtub. I kept forgetting he was in there when I went to go take a shower. It was horrifying.”

Tim gets caught in a little current beneath the diving board, but Bruce assures Jason and Dick that he’ll be fine and that they can take a break and get some lunch for themselves: Tim’s perfectly capable of getting the top off by himself and dragging himself to the kitchen. Or he’ll just cry until someone comes back out.

Dick and Jason start throwing foam footballs at one another after lunch. Headshots are perfectly legal, but Dick’s too focused on grabbing the nearest toy and hurling it at Jason to notice that the oblong thing he grabs next is slippery and alive. Tim gets thrown across the pool, hits the side of Jason’s head, and then flops into the water. Jason shouts, puts a hand to his head, and Dick freezes and covers his mouth with both his hands while Tim surfaces and begins to squeal. Jason grabs the mer in one hand while Bruce jumps into the pool.

“Let me see, let me see.”

“I’m okay,” Jason says as he prods the skin next to his eyebrow. “He’s pretty squish-“ Jason cuts off short and stares while Bruce takes the mer in both his hands and cradles him against his chest.

“Hush, hush, let me see.” Bruce holds the mer up with one hand around Tim’s torso and the other at the end of his tail.

Tim continues to squeal, but it quickly turns to sniffles.

“No bumps, no blood,” Bruce announces. “You’re alright, Tim.”

“Um, what about my skull?” Jason demands while Bruce holds Tim out to Dick who takes him with a gushing apology.

“You’re fine. Tim’s mostly cartilage.” It sounds dismissive. “Tim actually likes being thrown,” Bruce tells Dick. “Alfred and I would play catch using him. You just startled him is all.”


End file.
